Pistachio Ice Cream Night
by Lacking A Witty Username
Summary: All Kevin really wants is just a bowl of ice cream, but Scotty won't let him have it. What lengths will Mr. Walker go to for his frozen dessert?   T for suggestive themes, and language. May breach 'M' if inspiration hits.


If there was one favorite flavor in the world that Kevin had, it was Scotty's pistachio ice cream; and there was a big bowl, chilling, and hardening downstairs in the freezer.

* * *

Kevin remembered stumbling down into the restaurant's kitchen this morning in his slippers and robe, scratching the sand from the corner of his eyes, reaching for the ceiling he couldn't hope to reach through any stretch of of flesh or proper imagination. He shivered when he stepped into the kitchen, cracking a moist eyelid with a grimace.

"What're you doing?" He muttered, shuffling over towards the espresso machine, hand falling heavy on one of the white cups with the gracefully scripted words, _Café 429 _printed across the face.

"Hey, hey, hey," a sting shot through Kevin's hand, and he recoiled with a deep groan, shielding his appendage away from the attack of Scotty's wooden spoon.

"'Hey' _what_?" Opening his eyes, Kevin stared down at the slow-forming red mark and began the slow saunter over to the opposite counter, one where he _hoped_ he wouldn't be abused. "I hope you know that's going to bruise." He harumphed, slightly offended already.

_And it's not even seven-thirty, _Scotty thought with a sigh as his eyes flicked from the bowl of diced salty nuts to the slow-ticking Venetian clock on the wall. "It's not going to _bruise_," he defended, replacing the wooden spoon for his trusty granite pestle, beating down the rocky substance into grain. "I barely hit you hard enough to even _feel_ it." His brow set into a thick line, he chewed on his lower lip, concentrating on the grind of the nuts, listening to the rumble they made against the mortar.

"Says you." Kevin shot, and eyed the sweet, sweet coffee machine, the savior to his morning, wistfully from across the room. "I just wanted an espresso to start my day. That's not a crime against all humanity-"

"I've told you, that espresso machine is for the staff. You have a perfectly good coffee pot _upstairs_, don't you?" Scotty knew very well that Kevin did - for precisely this problem.

"Yeah, but," the shorter of the two frowned with a longing sigh, all but bowing before the colossal machine and kissing it's brilliantly silver levers, "it doesn't make _espresso_. How else do I make my morning latte, Scotty?"

"You walk down to Starbucks, and ask the cute barista nicely for one. Maybe if you're not so crabby," Scotty set the pestle down and began the search for his magically missing spoon. "_He'll_ get you one."

Kevin was more than taken aback at Scotty's sour attitude. With a frown, he took a few steps up behind him, and wrapped his short arms around his thin waist, pressing a few kisses to the back of Scotty's pajamas. "You're cooking at," he eyed the clock with a grimace, watching the second hand tick ever closer to eight. "This _ungodly_ hour, and it's making you grumpy. You need to _relax_," his hand dragged downward across the smooth fabric covering Scotty's warm skin, the tips of his fingers brushing the strings of the dodgy sweatpants that lingered low on his hips.

For the second time that morning, Kevin's hand was slapped away by something and his blood, which had begun to heat underneath his skin cooled faster than he was comfortable with. The thought that he could be getting old pricked at his mind, and made him pout. "Fine," he shrugged with a tone of distinct indignation. "Here's your spoon." Picking up the thin, wooden handle, he bitterly wondered if it was going to be the _only_ wood he would be handling that day.

"Thank you," Scotty snatched the spoon from Kevin's hand, emptying a container of white flakes into a metal bowl, dumping the contents of the mortar quickly behind it. He sighed quietly, and laid the spoon against the side of the bowl, turning and gripping Kevin's face in his capable chefs hands. "I'm sorry, Kevin." He resigned, finally, pressing a quick succession of fleeting kisses on his husband's pouty lips, in efforts to bring about a hiding smile. Nothing. "It's just I have this _huge_ dinner party coming in tonight who booked last minute, and the guy who planned it stated that it could grow _two-fold_ by six o'clock, and I just don't have time to get anything ready."

Kevin recognized the fleeting look of mania that blinked across Scotty's sweet blue eyes, and he sighed, taking him by the shoulders and kneading the tense muscles beneath; an all too familiar sound left Scotty's lips and danced with Kevin's ears, making him smile. It wasn't too long before that dream, too, was crushed with another scolding.

"Kevin, I don't have the _time_," Scotty whined quietly, shrugging off his partner's hands and turning back to the metal bowl, picking up a small, clear vial and dripping translucent liquid into the deep basin.

"Oh, c'mon, everyone has time for a little fooling arou-" the scent hit Kevin's nose like a train. Tilting his head, he sniffed the air around him, eyes dilating to the size of dinner plates. "Oh, you are not," he whispered, leaning around Scotty's arm with fascination as he stared at the mix of green and white chunks, slowly being blended into paste beneath the wooden spoon. "You are _not._"

"It's one of the specials tonight," Scotty's eyes flicked back to Kevin quickly with suspicion. "And _no_, you can't dig around in it. It was specially requested by that guy who's bringing in all those people, so I don't want you having your hands in it, okay?"

"But-!" Kevin pouted again, and looked at the bowl. He was starting to believe Scotty had a deep-seeded hatred of him, and his desires for all of the forbidden things. "You _know_ I love it - you _know_ it's my favorite,"

"Kevin, please, stop whining. I already have enough today, please. I'll make you a _whole_ new batch this weekend - I just do _not_ have the time today." Scotty returned to mixing a bowl of pistachio paste, flipping and twirling the thick mixture around with one hand, the other tweaking the dial on the stovetop. Kevin vaguely remembered a far more outlandish, floppy-haired Scotty _Wandell_ who _would've _given him all the pistachio ice cream and hanky panky he wanted - maybe at the same time!

"Fine," he dismissed, holding up his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, fine - I get it. Your _husband_ isn't as valued as a man with money and time for a _dinner party._" Kevin began the quick walk to the kitchen door, slurring the last two words like the most flamboyant of all queens.

"_Kevin_-" Scotty sighed, turning towards Kevin's retreating form, holding his hands open, palm-up to the ceiling.

"No, no," he jerked open the kitchen door, twirling out. "I _completely _understand. I'll go back to...looking through adoption booklets, and eating _Ben & Jerry's_ under the influence of _Jerry Springer_, or something." The door slammed shut, and Scotty stared until the smells of sugar burning slapped him in the face.

"Damn it!"

* * *

"_During the adoption process, it's important to bond with your chosen child. Visiting him/her often will insure you as parents will begin to form a seal with the child, and insure a transition into a happy, healthy home-_"

The sound of a lock clearing the door made Kevin look up from _Roy Wheldon_'s long-winded tirades on childcare. "Y'know," Kevin began, closing the cover of the intensively prepared book, shaking his head as he stared down at the smiling-faced jolly older man who didn't look like he'd ever raised a kid, let alone could give advice on the Foster Care system. "The more, and more I read the things this..._Roy Wheldon_ character has to tell me, the more I feel like a shitty person - let alone a parent."

No response greeted him, so Kevin kept talking.

"I mean, get a load of this," he cleared his voice in the most over-the-top manner, tipping his head back and peering underneath the rims of his glasses. "_'As a parent, you must be fully prepared to give up any and all self-care for at least the first two years the child is in your possession. If you are not ready to give up yourself, your partner, and any work you have - you are _not _ready to have a child._' Seriously?" Kevin glanced towards the empty entryway. Maybe Scotty was in the kitchen. He continued on. "Not only do we apparently have to not care for ourselves, but not even each other. It's ridiculous, I'll become a...a basket case in under a month. I know we have to give up a lot for our child, but...how does this guy expect us to feed a child if neither of us have a job, huh?"

More silence.

"Scotty?"

Kevin watched the entrance fill and empty as Scotty stumbled over to the couch, plopping face down in his lap. His brow drew together, and Roy Wheldon was tossed onto the coffee table for another time. Running his fingers through Scotty's hair, Kevin tilted his head sympathetically. "Hey, rough night?"

Scotty groaned, and nodded, which made Kevin bite back a groan of his own. Moving so that Scotty's head rested against his knee, Kevin took a deep breath.

"What, did the guy bring a hundred people or something?"

A shake of the head made his forehead lift.

"Then what?"

"The...guy canceled last minute," Scotty's arm wrapped beneath Kevin's leg, holding him like a pillow. "Rescheduled the whole thing for tomorrow."

Kevin's mood suddenly lifted. His eyes brightened, and he sat up a little straighter, a grin spreading across his face as Scotty kept talking. "So does that mean-"

"And that restaurant down the road had an electrical problem, so one of the waiters routed everyone down here, and I spent the whole night going off the menu for four-tops with little kids and geriatrics with no sense of taste."

The absolute joy in Kevin's voice was unmistakeable. "So then, that means-"

"And somehow, we ran out of serving dishes, because everyone and their hard-of-hearing father wanted to split something - at a _fine dining_ restaurant."

Oh, he could already feel the heavy ice cream melting on his tongue. "Yeah, but, that means-"

"It's like no one told them that my specials aren't..._'grilled cheese'_," he spat the word with slight disgust. "Or _'chicken nuggets'_." Groaning in frustration, Scotty further dug himself a hole in Kevin's knee.

"Yeah - okay, so that means that there's still ice cream, right? Down in the freezer?" Mentally, he was half way down the stairs already; his legs seemed to buzz with the promise of the slightly salty nuts, the smooth and creamy texture sliding along the back of his tongue...

Scotty, tiredly, turned over to snap his eyes to Kevin's in an unflinching look. "Do _not_," he said, "do not. I told you - the guy _rescheduled_. He's going to be here tomorrow night. Kevin, please, I told you - if I have time this weekend-"

"You'll make me some, I remember." All his hopes and dreams felt smashed in that single moment. Pouting sourly, he took the kiss Scotty planted on his lips as he sat up, and watched him clop off towards the shower like a tired racehorse. When he was barely in hearing distance, Kevin picked _Roy Wheldon _back up, and grumbled. "What happened to my fun-loving, cupcake-making husband who thought _I_ was the stick in the mud?"

* * *

An hour slowly ticked by. All Kevin could think about was that deeply frozen, creamy, pistachio-dotted ice cream downstairs. He could taste it - the thought made him shiver; that salty, creamy, homemade taste...there was nothing in the world like it. Again and again he adjusted himself so he didn't rush downstairs and dig into the forbidden bowl.

He _could_ sneak down...the sound of the shower in the other room gave him his opportunity. The moment came and went quickly, though, and when the shower shut off, Kevin leaned over, and caught a glimpse of skin heading towards the dresser. In that moment, he registered Scotty's long calve, the muscles that moved and contracted with each step, connected to slender ankles...water dribbled off the thin hairs on his leg and onto the floor, making Kevin suddenly _very_ thirsty. Tossing the book back down on the coffee table, all thoughts of ice cream were abandoned in lieu of something far longer-lasting.

Kevin groaned inwardly at the promise of what was to come as he cast the book away, and actively kept himself from running to the bedroom like a giddy schoolboy. _Strong, and sexy. In control, Kevin Walker. You are the _man_. _Straightening his shoulders, and blowing out a deep sigh, he strode with pseudo-confidence suited for the inflated ego of a regular Lothario into the bedroom, chest puffed, arms crossed, seductive smirk firmly in place.

Stalking over to the half-dressed, half-dead body on the bed, Kevin crawled on top of him, lathering Scotty's back with slowly heating, soon insistent kisses, trailing up the ridge of his long, curved spine, his hand following closely behind. Spotting the swell of Scotty's rear, his hand found the flesh over the flannel pajama bottoms, giving a tight squeeze, his fingernails grating white lines along the ample pink-

The body beneath him let out a groan; and not a groan of unbridled pleasure, or anticipation. Kevin tensed, but refused to give up. The tips of his fingers tweaked the elastic waistband, sliding right inside of the fabric and curling, sliding his pants down the curve.

"_What_ are you doing?" Scotty muttered, gripping the pillow and burying his face in the cool surface.

Kevin smiled, and leaned up, fingertips grazing the dimple beneath his hand. "I'm _trying_ to have sex with my _husband_," his lips traveled up towards the back of Scotty's ear, wedging the lobe between his teeth,

Silence met his ear, and Kevin leaned back onto his knees, folding his arms and pouting. Scotty didn't even crack an eyelid. "Kevin...I'm just _so_ tired...I'm sorry,"

With a disappointed sigh, and a creak of the bed beneath them, Kevin plopped down and crossed his legs, in a self-imposed time-out. "Yeah, me too,"

"We'll do something special this we-"

"If you say 'this weekend', I'm going to go in the bathroom and kill myself."

"Don't be so dramatic,"

"Don't be so dramatic?" Deep offense broke into Kevin's voice as he stared at he half-asleep Scotty with the look of a man being lead to his execution. "You refuse me sex, _and_ my favorite ice cream all in one day, and I'm supposed to be _happy _about all this? I can't believe this; you're-" listening a few seconds, aggravation seeped in; the breathing next to him turned slow, and even. "...Scotty?" A loud snore responded to him, and Kevin groaned, grabbing his pillow and slamming his face into it, resigning for the night.

* * *

_3:35 AM_ blinked the bedside clock, screaming the number into Kevin's mind over and over. He narrowed his eyes at the dashed number, daring it to change over, like he had for the past hour. It was a welcome alternative to thinking about being denied his two _favorite_ things in life being vehemently rejected to him. Inevitably, it changed whenever Kevin looked away, or blinked - and he was determined not to do either. "C'mon you bastard," he whispered. The familiar itch he's been fighting tugs at his tear ducts and pulls at the back of his lids. For a second, he smirks as he imagines little...versions of Scotty on his lower eyelashes, tugging little strings to make him blink. A little chuckle bursts through his vocal chords, a smile burning almost as hard as the stinging in his eyes that hopes to make him blink - until he remembers that he's angry at Scotty, which turns the smile into a grimace, and finally succeeds in letting his concentration down enough for the midgets to win.

_3:36 AM_.

"Damn it!"

"_Kevin!_"

Whoops.

Slowly, he turned his head around to face Scotty, guilt twisting a scared frown on his lips. "Um," he scratched his forehead, and rolled onto his side to face his husband. "Sorry."

"_Ugh_, just- ...just...go back to sleep,"

* * *

To his credit, Kevin _tried_ to sleep. He really did, but his mind kept rolling; between Scotty and the creamy deliciousness downstairs, it was impossible to concentrate on dreaming. He kept wondering when, exactly, _he_ became the free bird of the relationship. It was unsettling, in a way, not to be the uptight rock. It was knocking him out of his comfort zone. For the next twenty minutes, he tossed, and turned; trying to think of law definitions to hopefully _bore_ him to sleep.

_Arbitrary; not supported by fair or substantial cause or reason. Example: Scotty's refusal to allow me to have a _little _of that ice cream is arbitrary._

Smiling, a little smugly, he shut his eyes again and moved onto the next definition.

_Arguendo_...

* * *

_But I _deserve_ that ice cream, _Kevin suddenly thought, eyes shooting open to stare at the light fixture above him. _And he wouldn't miss a little centimeter of the top...just a little taste, that's all._ Nodding to himself, a little smile tweaked at his lips before reason started to pipe up like the unrestricted bastard it was.

**Scotty will be pissed.**

_What Scotty doesn't know won't hurt him,_

**Isn't that what he thought about the waiter he-**

_This is _not _the same! This is ice cream, not adultery!_

**If you lie about something as unimportant as ice cream, then it'll grow...and then where will the lies end?**

_Ugh...thanks. You're talking me out of it._

**Isn't that my job? **

_...But it is really just a little taste..._

**Kevi-**

_Oh, shut up._

Shooting out of bed, Kevin rushed to grab his slippers from the doorway, effectively silencing his devastatingly loud conscience.

_BANG!_

He gasped, knee colliding with the wooden chest at the end of the bed. His bone cried out, and he could practically feel his flesh taunt him. _If you think this hurt now, _it said, _wait until it bruises tomorrow._ Limping over to the door, Kevin held his breath, keeping all of the swearwords screaming in his mind behind his lips. _Fuck! Fuck! Ouch, fuck! _

With his mouth open in a silent string of unbridled cussing, he closed their bedroom door, and let loose whispered profanity. "Oh my _God,_" he groaned, and knelt, holding his knee and whimpering.

After a few minutes, he felt safe to stand, sliding on his slippers one at a time and shuffling for the door. "Ow, ow, ow," Kevin whined with each step, opening the door to the stairwell and stealing down the way, disappearing through the stark metal kitchen door, his eyes fixated to the freezer door. Oh, it looked so beautiful - tall, broad, shining in the slight moonlight; everything he wanted in a refrigerator.

In broad steps, he had to force his legs not to skip merrily to his happy ending. Beyond the door, the pistachios mixed deep within the creamy, sweet mixture, called to him.

"_Kevin! Kevin Walker! Come eat us! Save us!"_

Shaking his head, Kevin opened the freezer door, slowly, inch by inch, relishing the anticipation that welled up into his ice cream-hungry gut. Goosebumps grew up his arm as he reached his opened fist into the deep abyss, wrapping around a big metal canister with a large tent of Saran Wrap. Excitement beginning to flutter through his fingertips, he nudged the freezer closed with his hip, and fluidly nabbed a cleaned wooden spoon from a rack, poising it in his hand like a weapon.

As slowly as he opened the door, Kevin peeled back the plastic, every little crinkle making him jump, spoon set to kill the nearest particle of frozen goodness.

"That's right," he muttered, taking in a deep whiff of the cold air, inching his spoon towards the vat, the spoon slowly beginning to sink into the treat like a knife to butter. He cherished the moment, lifting the greenish glob of sweet cream from the container, towards his waiting, quivering lips. "Come to daddy."

When the dessert hit his lips, and danced across his tongue, Kevin's whole being shouted the hallelujah chorus, in complete tune, breaking it only for a low moan of satisfaction to rumble through his throat before the kitchen light suddenly snapped on.

_Uh-oh_.

* * *

_a/n: Kind of a cliffhanger there, huh? I might continue it on into a very...citrusy end, but for now, you all'll have to use your imaginations! You know, that thing, that thing that makes the polar bears in your closet purr to you at night? That thing. As always, reviews are appreciated, and help make quicker/better writings. Much love! _

_- Amanda_

_Disclaimer: Brothers & Sisters isn't my brainchild, neither are Kevin and Scotty...the only thing I own is a bowl of that amazing ice cream._


End file.
